


Time for Some Answers

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e03 A Dish Best Served Cold, Friendship, Gen, Important Conversations, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28437270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: After the events of 3x03, Nick and Renard clear the air, and Nick finds out exactly how far Renard went to protect him.
Relationships: Nick Burkhardt & Sean Renard
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	Time for Some Answers

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story has fought me tooth and nail from the beginning. It was supposed to be a Comfortember fic, but I didn't like how it turned out, and November was pretty chaotic. Then, after some edits, I went to post it, and AO3 just sort of froze for around an hour. But I'm happy with how it turned out after editing, and hopefully it will actually post this time. 
> 
> Please enjoy what was supposed to be a short scene-Nick answering Renard's question-and spiraled. Apparently, the boys needed to talk.

After the case is closed, Nick waits. He sits beside Monroe, Hank on the other side, patiently listening to the Blutbad’s stories about his fallen friends. As the adrenaline from the fight fades, and grief sets in, Monroe’s countenance drops, leaving an exhausted shadow of a human being in its wake. By silent agreement, Nick and Hank try to keep the conversation light, to coax Monroe toward happier stories of those he’s lost. 

It’s a relief when Rosalee arrives. She crosses the room without hesitation, wrapping her arms around Monroe and holding him tightly. He all but sags against her, and though he towers over her, she doesn’t falter. She’s sure and steady as she holds him up, murmuring against his ear, stroking his hair. 

Nick exchanges an awkward glance with Hank, and clears his throat. “You should head home,” he suggests quietly, mindful of the couple lost in their own world in front of them. “Get some sleep.”

The look Hank fixes him with is far too knowing. “Are you going to?”

“Not yet.” He swallows. “There’s something I need to clear up with the Captain.” 

It’s obvious Hank wants to come along, but he’s always good at knowing when to push and when to let things go, so he nods, gathering his coat and quietly slipping out. 

When Monroe finally leaves, hand clutching Rosalee’s so tightly that Nick’s amazed it doesn’t hurt, Nick knows it’s time.

He knocks on the office, just briefly, before stepping inside. Renard is leaning over a stack of paperwork, scrawling signatures on page after page. Nick’s not altogether sure the man is even reading them, although he doesn’t seem the type to sign something without knowing what it is. 

Clearing his throat, Nick starts with an olive branch.  _ “This little piggy went to jail?  _ Really?”

Lips twitching, Renard lifts his head. “Well, someone had to say it.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that.” It’s tempting to stay here, to keep the conversation light and joking. It’s surprisingly comfortable, even after everything. But this is  _ important,  _ and he can’t just let it hang, so he gathers his courage and adds, “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about… Earlier.”

Renard’s face falls, into something that oddly resembles guilt, before he steels himself. “Got an answer for me?”

“I do.” Certainty settles in his bones. “ _I don’t care_ whether or not he was Wesen. I mean, really, I don’t know if he was or not.”

Sure, he didn’t woge in the video, but that isn’t proof of anything. Maybe he was more like Renard: only woging when he wanted to, or at least far more in control of it than anyone Nick has ever seen. In any case, it  _ didn’t matter. _

Nick walks up to the desk, resting his palms against it and leaning forward. “I  _ care  _ that I killed someone, and I couldn’t control it. Maybe he was a bad guy; great. But what if he hadn’t been? What if those kids had died? Or you, or Juliette, or-”

“Nick, stop,” Renard interrupts, and for a moment, frustration wells up in Nick, but then he catches the genuine alarm in the captain’s eyes, and hesitates, looking down. His hands are nearly blue, color just barely starting to creep back in. 

_ Oh. _ “And then there’s that,” he mutters, dropping down into the seat across from Renard in exhaustion. 

The captain’s eyes are sharp as he assesses him. “How long has that been happening?”

“Since…” He considers. “Since I woke up from taking the cure, I guess. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine in a minute.”

This answer doesn’t seem to placate Renard, who leans back in his seat, watching Nick carefully. “Have you seen a doctor?” 

“Yeah, Juliette insisted.” This coaxes another ghost of a smile out of Renard, who by all accounts has had more than one first-hand experience lately with the full force of Juliette Silverton’s stubbornness. “Apparently, I’m one of the healthiest people he’s ever seen.” 

Whether the word of a doctor is reassurance enough or Nick is finally looking better, he isn’t sure, but after a moment, Renard relaxes. “Right, then. As far as the other is concerned, you killed a bad man, and in the process, you saved a good one.” He says it so matter-of-factly that it takes Nick a few seconds to register the compliment. “Don’t let it weigh on you, Nick. You can’t afford to.”

Whether that’s reassuring or not, he isn’t quite sure, but it does sound a little more like what he was hoping for when he first came to Renard. He could let it go at that, and call it a night, but something inside him warns against it. Maybe it’s Grimm instincts, or maybe he’s just getting to know the man in front of him better than ever before, but either way, he clears his throat.

“You want to tell me what was bothering you earlier? And why you took it out on me?”

Renard hesitates, picking up his discarded pen and pressing it between his fingers. His brows furrow, and it’s obvious he’s weighing his options. That’s fine; Nick can wait. 

Finally, he sighs. “Have you watched the news lately?”

For a split-second, Nick wonders if this is some sort of existential crisis, if the captain is simply suffering under the weight of a never-ending onslaught of crime and darkness, and is wondering if the job is even worth it if they never seem to really change anything.

Then, he catches the pointed expression on Renard’s face, and realizes this might be a little more specific. “Ah, not really, no. I’ve been a little busy.”

“Right.” He rolls the pen around absently, and Nick wonders if the man has ever tried a worry stone. Or maybe a stress ball. Regardless, whatever he’s going to say next, he seems to be choosing his words carefully. “When my dear brother returned to Vienna, he was… Ambushed. Car bomb. He didn’t make it.”

Nick doesn’t quite know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. He blinks, rolling the words around in his head. It seems impolite to cheer, or start crying in relief, especially because this is obviously wearing on Renard (surprising in its own right, but then, he  _ was  _ his brother, no matter how complicated things were between them), but he’s not sure he could muster a sincere  _ sorry for your loss,  _ either. 

“That’s… Unexpected,” he replies, stalling for time. Renard nods, but there’s something on his face Nick can’t quite make sense of. Like he’s waiting for something. But what? “Weird timing,” he adds. “I wonder if it had anything to do with the stuff he did in Portland.”

Renard’s voice is unsettlingly cold. “I’m sure it did.”

Someone with an axe to grind? Someone interested in revenge, maybe? But who in Portland would have those kind of ties in-

_ Oh. _

_ Ohhh. _

Some kind of realization must appear on his face, because Renard nods. “Yeah.”

The implications hit him in waves, and he swallows hard. He’s well aware that Renard has protected him before, but this is something else entirely. The man had his own brother killed. No wonder Nick’s own guilt brought out the worst in him. It doesn’t excuse his behavior, but at the very least, it explains it. 

_ Thank you  _ seems out of place here, but Renard’s watching him carefully, wariness in his eyes, and he knows he must say something. “Are you… Okay?” The answer is obvious, but he hopes Renard will recognize it for what it is: an offer to listen, if he wants to talk. 

Apparently he does, because after a moment, Renard clears his throat. “I left Vienna when I was thirteen,” he begins quietly, and Nick settles back in his seat. He has a feeling this might take a minute. “And I was in a Swiss boarding school before that, so my family wouldn’t have to see me.” He says it matter-of-factly, but there’s just a trace of bitterness under the words. “So Eric and I have never been close. But I remember one summer… I must have been 11 or 12. The school had to close for  _ repairs. _ ” He meets Nick’s eyes suddenly, something unexpectedly light in his. “Someone coaxed a pack of stray cats into the school, and they wrecked everything. They never found out who did it, oddly enough.”

In spite of himself, he can’t help but laugh, picturing a chaotic juvenile Sean Renard. “Guess it was someone careful.”

“Guess so.” He’s smiling as well, a contained but sincere grin. “Anyway, they had no choice but to send me back to my family for the summer. I mostly tried to stay out of the way, but one night, Eric found me. Convinced me to go play outside with him. Have to admit, I was pretty excited. I thought… Maybe he was starting to warm up to me.” His expression darkens, any hint of humor fading in an instant. “Until he ran back inside and locked me out. I spent the night outside in the cold, and when I finally got back in, he’d trashed my stuff. Clothes, books, anything he could get his hands on. Said that’s what I got for being the son of-” He falters, grimacing, shaking his head. “They had a lot of names for my mother,” he finishes instead, and it’s all too easy for Nick to fill in the blanks.

He doesn’t quite know what to say, but he nods, hoping that it at least shows he’s listening. Apparently it does, because after a moment, Renard continues. 

“They didn’t even know she was a Hexenbiest then. But she wasn’t the queen, and that was all it took.”

Nick’s childhood wasn’t the easiest, but he cannot imagine growing up like that. At least in his case, he always knew he was loved. “That sounds hard,” he offers, and Renard’s expression tightens.

“Like I said, my brother and I have never exactly been close,” he finishes, turning his attention back to his paperwork. “And I did what I had to do. I couldn’t let his actions stand.”

He’s shutting Nick out. Nick can feel it, and he thinks he might know why. Renard doesn’t exactly do vulnerable well, after all; he probably didn’t mean to share so much. Privately, Nick wonders how long it’s been since the man has had someone to talk to. 

Choosing his words carefully, Nick leans forward. “He hurt a lot of people,” he points out quietly, and frustration flickers on Renard’s face, but he ignores that. “And he wouldn’t have left me alone. So… If I saved a good man…” And frankly, he’s still not entirely sure he believes that, but he  _ wants to.  _ “So did you.” 

Renard doesn’t reply, and Nick doesn’t expect him to, just rises to his feet.

“Goodnight, Captain.” 

After a moment, Renard sighs. “Nick?”

“Yes?”

It’s clear he’s not altogether sure about what he’s going to say, but he doesn’t back down. “What you did today… You found a way to keep from killing Ostler when there shouldn’t have been a way.  _ That  _ is what _ you  _ do.”

Now it’s Nick’s turn not to reply, not out of irritation, but out of shock. He can only gape, frozen in place, at the open reassurance. It’s a stark contrast to the cold accusation of before:  _ That’s what you Grimms do, isn’t it?  _

After a moment, Renard huffs, a sound dangerously close to laughter. “That will be all. Get some rest.” 

Right. Time to go. 

He steps out of the office and into the night, mind whirling in a thousand different directions. The captain’s words settle under his skin, a solid defense against the guilt churning in his gut. Not enough to allay it completely-he doubts anything ever will be-but enough that he thinks maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to sleep tonight. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
